Middle Earth || OS

33. Bilbo | A Dream and A Star

Tumblr : averil-of-fairlea

Elf lover who died in Bilbo's arms

Characters: Bilbo, Elf!reader || Setting: Rivendell, Beorn's house, Mirkwood, Battle of Five Armies || Words: 1,880 || Genre: Romance, super angst ||  || Warning: its a double dose of heartache for Bilbo and Tauriel

Ólon

You saw him through your bedroom window, looking back, looking for you. Maybe the sadness on his face was a farewell; maybe it was a promise to return. Maybe it was an apology, for he was clearly not in control of this decision to flee Rivendell.

Watching him, the ache in your heart was almost more than you could bear.

The leisurely walks through the gardens with the Hobbit , the long talks, the visits over tea - you tried to tell yourself that those were part of your duties as a member of Lord Elrond's official welcoming party for guests.

Bilbo seemed one of the few in the company of Thorin Oakenshield to put any trust in your kind. In fact, he was more compatible with Rivendell than some Elves you knew.

It took only one tour of the valley with you to convince him to stay close by your side for the rest of the visit. You saw something in him, a purpose, loyalty and sweetness that you'd never seen in even the most virtuous Elf.

Bilbo never failed to tell you how he believed that he could be happy there someday.

"...and you are a large part of that." It was the first time he'd ended his musings with that confession.

Shocked, you tried to keep your balance as you sat across from him on a bench overlooking the valley's highest, most captivating waterfall.

The last drops of red wine stained the elegant glasses resting on the ground. Bilbo's feelings took you by surprise - not because he actually admitted them, but because he said almost verbatim what you were about to tell him: that you had never felt more at peace in your home than over the last few weeks. And he was a large part of that.

"Ólon, I feel the same way," you said, your secret nickname for him slipping in the rosiness of the moment.

"I'm so glad to hear that," Bilbo answered. Then he furrowed his brow and tilted his head to the side. "But what does Ólon mean?"

You giggled and closed your eyes, hoping that when you told him, it wouldn't scare him off. But before you had the chance to share it, he moved closer, placed his hands on your arms, stretched his neck up, and kissed you.

If you could have spent the night on that bench - with Bilbo's tousled curls pressed against your chest in warm embraces, with his fingers twisting the ends of your hair into coils, his kisses remaining shy, no matter how much his lips touched yours - you would have.

But he retired to his guest quarters and you returned to your home well into the night, agreeing to meet for a sunrise breakfast in the same spot.

It was not to be.

You kept your eyes on the departing company, with the leader, Thorin, saying something sharply to your Bilbo, making him turn around and trudge up the pass.

You had just gotten dressed in your robe, preparing for your breakfast with BIlbo. Your bow and quiver full of arrows were close by, in the large cabinet by the front door.

You debated alerting Lord Elrond to what you saw, to stop them.

But something told you not to.

Something told you to follow them.